Before the World Ends

I'm in a park.

In the distance I see a willow tree, alive in its ancient grace.

And I keep thinking fuck-that must be what hell looks like.

Decaying without ever dying.

I think about love. I think about her.

How I could tell that she was a lonely person, even though no one else could, because I knew what it felt like like to be alone, lonely, and invisible. Like-like no matter what you do or how hard you try, your words never seem to reach anyone. And it killed me.

Then she smiled. I said one thing, she said another and the next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation. It was May 12th. She asked me out and bought me a drink, this was the first time anyone had ever done this for me. And as the cold perspiring glass passed between us- our fingers touched.

As many times as I drank, as many times my eyes locked on to hers.

As many times as she stared, as many times I saw my reflection burning back at me.

It was heaven and hell brought together in my mind. And that is where I am now. Running...

Through a corridor of hope-

Down the path I did not take-

Towards the door I never opened-

Into a garden of thorns and roses.

Where fireflies beckoned towards an evening that keeps singing-

You could have had this instead.

I begin to walk because I'm tired of living in the ashes of dead happiness.

I think about God- And if we could meet on even terms.

Him striped of power and I of its fear, what would I ask and what would he reveal. In the final analysis, would it even matter?

I think about the future that I will never live to see- I don't think about the past. Who cares what it was, when what it is now is dead.

I think about suicide, and I wonder what goes through their minds in those final moments of life. Humans are instinctive creatures, we want to live-don't we? But to live doesn't mean that you're necessarily alive so you live as though you were not. In the shadow of the background, doomed to live a life without the will to live.

I think they die before they swallow the pills, before they use the blade, before they step on that bridge- before they pull the trigger. It's the thought that kills you.

It kills you before you die. Long before you die.

I close my eyes, because this is it.

This is the way the world ends.

For this suicide-my suicide-has no need for blades, guns, bridges or pills.

No.

All it needs is me and my loneliness.

I know now that my own thoughts will drive me insane.

My own mind will kill me.